


Flashing Lights, Flashing Teeth

by Moonreefe



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Actually probably like 23+ but anyway, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood, Bottom Oikawa Tooru, Choking, Edging, Fingering, Lots of Edging, M/M, RIP, Rough Sex, Throat Fucking, Top Iwaizumi Hajime, Whiny fucking brat Oikawa Tooru, everyone is 18+, fucking tooru is like fucking a very angry needy raccoon and he slices hajimes back up to oblivion, hitting but sexually, lots of cussing, spitting in mouth action, would it even be me without the edging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonreefe/pseuds/Moonreefe
Summary: “I have a lot more than luck,” the guy leans in, and Hajime briefly considers the ideal possibility that the music had drowned out the first of his words when the idiot deigns to continue, “And I’m sure I could show you a better time. He doesn’t have to know.” Hajime feels angry ice crackle in his chest at the mere concept the fuckface is trying to sell.“Very, very unlikely. Bold fucking assumption, really.” His lip rolls up on one side, and his eyebrows further furrow. The guy is leaning in, for some reason, and he’s about to get in a fucking fight when there’s a hand on his shoulder, and a familiar weight against his side.“I’m sorry,” Tooru’s cheery voice begins, “He’s not interested. Why would he be, really?Lookat you.”---Hajime knows Tooru better than anyone. Harder, deeper and more passionately than anyone. More Intimately and pleasurably and-So he knows when Tooru is upset, and since they're only at the club for Tooru anyway, he's more than willing to head home and go to bed.They don't end up sleeping, that's for sure.----
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 12
Kudos: 228





	Flashing Lights, Flashing Teeth

The club’s air is stifling. Every breath smells like unwashed hair and artificial strawberry syrup. The lights flash in blinding bursts, leaving him blind every second beat, the bar’s lit so dim he wonders how the tender can see shit. There’s heat in the lights, the bodies writhing in every crevice of the dancefloor, bleeding off onto the wooden floor where a few too many people gathered in one spot. It was somewhere Tooru thrived, really. No one was really paying close attention. He could scream and shout and feel hot when hands wandered and eyes were on him, without having to perform to any specific social code, without vulnerability nor commitment. Hajime had stayed behind, and he’s long since lost track of where Tooru was. The stainless steel ring on his finger clanks against the glass he holds as he taps it. It was something or other virgin, he’d agreed to drive home, and he’s never been much for the feeling of being tipsy anyway. He’s been holding it so long it was tacky and warm, the liquid congealing, with a thin film slowly growing over the top.

He’s been mostly left alone. It was probably his resting face, scowl darkened by makeup, even the highlighter Tooru had raved about didn’t seem to lighten his brows, set impressively deep, lips turned down into a scowl. His face had only turned more sour as he’d aged, frown lines and scowl marks dug into his face six feet deep. Those few brave souls who dared to even sit on the same side of the bar as him were honestly impressive. 

He doesn’t really mind. This was not his kind of place, not the place he’d really be looking to pick up friends, or a lover, obviously. But he loved seeing Tooru light up how he did. Also didn’t hurt to watch him writhe against other people, even if he’d never admit that did it for him. Watching him dance in general was...well, it went one or two ways. He wasn’t exactly graceful, but occasionally he melted into a rhythm of pure sex, and Hajime, not usually one to stare, never could peel his eyes away. 

Or he nearly fell over, and danced like an automall skydancer and Hajime couldn’t help but want to shatter the glass in his hands out of pure, bone deep adoration.

He’d take either, really.

He’d take anything Tooru gave him. 

He’s doing something like grinning into the disgusting sugar coated mess in his hands when someone dares to sit beside him. He spares the brave soul a glance, before pointedly avoiding looking at them. He doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s retracing Tooru’s every curve mentally, replaying in his head heated, lusty memories, some laced with fantasy more than others. 

Not everyone was gifted with the ability to read the room, he supposes, because a much fresher drink is being slid his way, and a hand gently plucks the glass out of his, leans into his personal space with a grin. They either miss his shoulders tensing, or think the drink will loosen them. He passes it back, and flags down the tender for some soda. He thinks maybe he can ignore this guy into leaving him alone. Persistence wasn’t cute, unless Tooru was somehow involved. Even then, somewhat iffy. 

He nearly jumps when the guy decides to lean in close to his ear to speak over thumbing electric music. It’s a deeper, sultry voice, and for a minute he’s left to remember back in highschool when Tooru’d gone through a phase of wanting a deeper voice, pushing it low enough it crackled like rice paper. It’d sounded awful.

“I knew you could smile,” the voice is almost worse than Tooru’s forced, crackling one, and it’s paired with a tracing of an index finger down his leg. He grabs the wrist with his hand, crushing it ever so slightly. 

“Hands to yourself.” He shoves it back, roughly, and the desired effect is certainly not the actualized one. He turns to see hooded eyes, an attempted seductive grin, and a near suffocating amount of desperation...and _frosted tips_. He wonders how long this guy has been here that he’s decided to stop playing cards and throw the whole deck in the trash. For a moment he considers just standing up and moving, but Tooru would panic if he turned to see the seat he’d left Hajime in empty. “I’m taken. Try your luck elsewhere.”

“I have a lot more than luck,” the guy leans in, and Hajime briefly considers the ideal possibility that the music had drowned out the first of his words when the idiot deigns to continue, “And I’m sure I could show you a better time. He doesn’t have to know.” Hajime feels angry ice crackle in his chest at the mere concept the fuckface is trying to sell. 

“Very, very unlikely. Bold fucking assumption, really.” His lip rolls up on one side, and his eyebrows further furrow. The guy is leaning in, for some reason, and he’s about to get in a fucking fight when there’s a hand on his shoulder, and a familiar weight against his side. 

“I’m sorry,” Tooru’s cheery voice begins, “He’s not interested. Why would he be, really? _Look_ at you.” He leans in, theatrically, with a large grin, and continues, “Maybe try someone in your league. Better luck next time!” He then, unceremoniously, dumps the offered drink on the guy, who now looks like he’s going to cry. He runs off, likely to a bathroom, and Tooru cleans off the stool with a napkin before sitting in it and grabbing Hajime’s face, mashing their lips together.

It’s clumsy, and clearly Tooru is heated. Teeth dig into Hajime’s lips, the grip on his jaw is tight, and despite the fact that he’d sat on the stool, he ends up nearly in Hajime’s lap, grinding every so slightly. Hajime groans, trying to pry him off as he dips below his chin to Hajime’s neck, gnawing like a particularly enthusiastic vampire. 

“Tooru, down. Down, _down._ ” He finally dislodges him, and Tooru runs a hand through his own hair, a little winded, and still looking furious. Hajime tries his best not to smile. “What was _that._ ” 

Tooru clears his throat, shaking his head and grinning fakely, “Nothing. Nothing at _all_.” He breathing doesn’t slow for a minute, and he orders juice to sip on while he, visibly, tries to calm down. Everyone that comes within four feet of them gets glared at so hard he swears he can see lasers burn their skin. He’s never seen Tooru this defensive before. Anything he’d wanted to say, any admonishing dies where it’s born. 

He wraps an arm around his waist, kissing his jaw, fingers sliding into his. “Yours.” 

“ _Mine._ Yes. Yeah.” Came the clipped response, even as he melted right into Hajime. 

“Want to go home?” He’s expecting the head shake even as he longs for their bed. They didn’t have much free time, nowadays, and he wouldn’t drag him home early if he was enjoying himself. “Kiss?”

Tooru is still just a bit too quick to respond, and there’s still a flare of aggression in the way he kisses, a possessive hand on his leg. “I love you. Sorry for...that.” There’s guilt lacing his words, even as his defensive glaring doesn’t cease one bit. Hajime forgoes a response to nip his jaw. 

“Drink a little water for me, yeah?” Tooru rolls his eyes and takes the glass in Hajime’s hands, sipping at it. “More, Tooru.” The groan is over the top, but Hajime can see the sweat soaked into the back of his shirt, and his lips are getting dry. Hajime presses lip balm into his hand, and Tooru looks at it in disbelief.

“You. Oh my fucking god, is this because-,” at Hajime’s nod, Tooru throws his head back and laughs dramatically, popping the lid to coat his lips in it. Tooru had complained for a week that he’d cracked his lip last time they’d been out, and Hajime had bought a ten pack of flavoured lip balms the next time they’d gone grocery shopping. He’d just begun his new habit of offering it to Tooru whenever he remembered. Hajime is brought out of his reverie by soft, raspberry flavoured lips on his. Tooru takes one last sip of water, making a face at it as he goes back to the dancefloor. Hajime watches him go with nothing short of hearts in his eyes. 

He watches him dance for a while until he loses him again, and then he settles back in with some sprite and flicks through social media for a while. 

He’s not so lucky as to go undisturbed for the rest of the night, though. But the next guy that sits next to him politely gains his attention by commenting on one of his tattoos, and the conversation that follows isn’t too rocky. The guy is nice enough, though he wonders every moment or two if this is flirting or not. Just to be sure, he intersperses comments about Tooru. It doesn’t seem to phase him, and Hajime considered that safe enough. 

He’s exchanging numbers with him when Tooru reappears, and the look on his lover’s face was a bit of ‘victorian housewife discovers house haunting’ mixed with ‘horror movie serial killer debating next move’. Hajime introduces him to the guy, and Tooru visibly tries to keep himself together as he, just a tad too politely, joins the conversation. Hajime can see the discomfort etched into his body language, and when the guy waves and leaves, and Tooru is practically pressed into his side, face a deliberate blank, with his mouth set ever so slightly too tight, and his shoulders bunched up, he presses his lips to his head and says, “Home?”

Tooru shifts, stiffly, and says, “No, you’re _clearly_ having a good time.” It’s bitter, and the second after he says it he winces, “No, that came out gross, I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re. Socializing. Proud of you.” He presses his face into Hajime’s chest, and Hajime runs hands through his hair gently, scratching his scalp. There’s guilt etched into him, and doubt, and a million other little things that press into his flesh and make him shift to seek comfort. 

“I’m more than ready to sink into bed,” Hajime sighs, and Tooru nods against his stomach, where he’s slowly slipped to. Hajime hauls him up, kissing his ear and paying for the drinks. Their hands are laced together as they head toward the door. 

They’re in the car, Tooru glaring at his own feet the whole ride home. He doesn’t say anything, occasionally peaking over to Hajime dolefully. When they’re home, Hajime can’t help but turn his head with a finger, kissing him gently, and then the pouty corners of his mouth, and his cheeks, and Tooru melts with a pleased sound. “M’feet hurt,” he grumbles, and he turns to capture Hajime’s mouth again, sighing into it. When Hajime pulls away, Tooru’s pout returns and he grips Hajime’s arm as it moves away, “You’re not going to run off with frosted tips guy, right?”  
Hajime freezes, before promptly losing it. Tooru’s brows furrow, and his pout deepens. “I’m serious!”

Hajime has to compose himself, hearing the near teary tone of Tooru’s voice. It’s hard, but he does it, and then he kisses Tooru deeply before pulling away to get out of the car. “I hate frosted tips guy,” he grumbles, “And I love you.” 

Tooru pauses, lips pursing, before his brows edge further down, unbuckling his seatbelt and slamming the door once he’s out the car, “That is _not_ a no.” 

Hajime rolls his eyes, following Tooru into the house, locking the car “No, I am not running off with frosted tips guy.” He smirks, putting on a ‘I am very clearly joking voice’, “You kinda ruined my chances, after all.”

Tooru gasp offendedly and glares, hard, and his voice is edging on genuine hurt when he replies, “Fuck off! There were zero chances! You were not going to, tell me you weren’t going to fuck fucking frosted tips guy!” Hajime can’t stop laughing, his face pressed into Tooru’s stiff shoulders from behind, arms gently linked in front of him.

“No, Tooru, no, I'm sorry. You’re right, zero chances, zilch.” Tooru only relaxes once he’s said this, even though Hajime can still feel just a bit of tension still. 

They’re soon in bed, Tooru completely naked and Hajime in a shirt with boxers on. They stuck together when they got sweaty, and peeling off of each other wasn’t much fun.

Hajime already knows it’s going to happen by the time it does, because Tooru had barely kept his hands to himself since they’d gotten home, and the entire time he was removing his makeup and stripping his clothing off, he’d been giving a speech on how much better he was than frosted tips guy, only barely avoiding trash talking tattoo guy, and it had very quickly turned into a detailed recounting of his sexual prowess, and all the compliments Hajime had ever given him, and the second they’re in bed Tooru’s hands and lips are wandering, and very soon he’s having his shirt pulled up over his head.

“Tooru,” he groans. He’s exhausted, but those hands know his body like a cartographer does a well worn map, and his fingers find places that heat Hajime’s skin and quicken his breath, and very quickly he’s flipping them over to neck Tooru, biting deep bruising marks into his skin and working them purple. 

Hajime bites a bit too hard on Tooru’s collar bone, feeling and tasting blood pour over his tongue as Tooru claws at him and moans, rutting his already hard cock on Hajime’s leg. Pain had always had interesting effects on Tooru, and the more places he breaks skin the more desperate Tooru’s cries get. “Fuck, _fuck me_ , asshole.” Tooru hisses, nails digging deep grooves into his skin. 

“Patience,” he croons, tracing a finger down his leg, “it’s a virtue, Tooru.”

“FUCK virtues,” he growls, pressing into the hand on his leg, “I’d like to be stripped of them, actually, god please, please,” he’s writhing, and his hands wander across Hajime’s body restlessly, pinching a nipple and pressing against firm muscle adoringly. Hajime lets his own cock brush against Tooru’s thigh, and the sound that pulls from Tooru makes it pulse.

He coats his finger in lube, and leans forward to capture Tooru’s mouth as he presses two fingers in at once. Enough to hurt, and he basks in the pained, breathy squeak it pulls from Tooru, as well as the way he wiggle into and away from it, like he can’t decide. He’ll hear complaints about it later, he’s sure, more than enough. ‘Why are you so meaaaan to meeee.’ and ‘That fucking HURT, Hajime.’ But Hajime knows it does it for him, when it hurts a little. Besides, he was still a bit loose from when Hajime pounded him face first into the couch the other night, so it wasn’t too bad. 

Tooru is melting into him, so he can’t be doing too bad, right? Hasn’t been quiet for a single second, as usual, either cursing or pleading or begging, breathing like he’s trying to win an olympic dash. 

Blunt fingernails tear down his chest, and Tooru impatiently fucks back against his fingers. “Fuck, more, more, please more,” he begs, just as he barely begins to loosen up, and the slight worry Hajime’d secretly harbored melts into amused adoration as he continues as if he didn’t hear him. “Hajime, _more_.” Tooru looks up at him like he’s fucking stupid, his eyes angry and his brows furrowed and Hajime lets his fingers hit home particularly hard in retaliation. It nearly makes Tooru lose the concentration he needs to pester Hajime into giving him what he wants, making his face go slack with pleasure. 

But only nearly, and in the next beat Tooru is back to begging for more more more. “Why should I give you more?” He croons, “Greedy.” 

In between hiccough-sobbed moans, Tooru begins listing reasons, though it ends up more of a, stuttered mess, “O-one, I, oh, I, GOD, I deserve it,” the next thrust forces his voice to waver, as it hit his prostate hard, ‘Oh, god, fuck, I, oh, two I, I _want_ it, I want it, fuck, _give it to me_ , please, please… _please_ Hajime.” 

Hajime’s eyes hood. He wants to fucking destroy Tooru. His voice suggests otherwise, as he croons at him, “You _want_ it,” it’s sweet, but saccharinely so, “Pleaaaase.” 

Tooru nods as he presses back against Hajime, writhing in place. Hajime barely feels his own cock, busy playing Tooru’s body like a harp, plucking strings and extracting the prettiest noises from him. He pumps a hand down Tooru’s shaft, twisting up, and Tooru nearly chokes on his next moan. Hajime makes peace with how much aloe vera he’s going to have to use on his chest and back to soothe the deep scores Tooru’s fingernails press into his skin. 

“Yes, yes, I, oh, fuuuck I want it so bad, Haaaaajime,” drool is making it’s way down Tooru’s chin, and Hajime can’t help but marvel at how wrecked he is already, how much of a mess he becomes so quickly under Hajime’s ministrations. He’s so beautiful, hair fucked up and sticking everywhere, tired eye bags and drool and wrecked facial expression. Hajime couldn’t picture a prettier angel. 

He slips the third finger in without announcing it, and Tooru’s back arches desperately. It’s Hajime’s favourite, when it does that, especially how Tooru rolls his hips back after, the choked noises it pulls from him.

“Pretty boy,” Hajime croons, and Tooru preens under the praise, like he’d never been praised before in his life. It makes him look back up at Hajime, his eyes glossy with several types of need, and Hajime grins, letting his voice drop as he croons “Look at you, my gorgeous little slut.” Tooru gasps for air, nodding, his clipped desperate sounds trying to mimic agreement. “You’re my pretty little slut, aren’t you?” He asks, because the way Tooru nearly thrashes his head in agreement is cute, like if he doesn’t vehemently agree it’ll cease to be true. Hajime trails fingers down his chest, pressing his thumb into the skin there, touching just to touch, to ground.

“Yours, yours, yes,” Tooru gasps, and one of his hands closes arounds Hajime’s wrist, pulling it up to his mouth, closing his lips around Hajime’s index finger. Hajime takes the hint and fucks his mouth with the digits, adding his middle and twisting them in, fucking back to his throat, making Tooru’s eyes flutter. Even with fingers in his throat, he’s as loud as ever, and Hajime’s guts twist with need.

He hopes the neighbors don’t get a second of sleep.

Every breathy, whiny ‘please’ Tooru whimpers around his fingers is mirrored by a teasing, drawn out “pleaaaaase”, Hajime pulling his fingers out of Tooru’s mouth to wipe the spit on his chest, dipping to kiss him sweetly. Tooru bites his lip hard. Hajime winces, but mostly laughs. Little fuck. He pulls back, and Tooru won’t let his lip go.

He slips his fingers out of Tooru, and his lip is released to make room for the angry, hissed words, “Fuck you, put them back asshole.” Hajime grins, teasing his hole with fingers, his tongue lapping over his injured lip. He holds Tooru’s head in place, in a way that tells Tooru exactly what’s happening next. His eyes brighten, looking up at Hajime hopefully. Hajime raises his hand and strikes it across his face. Tooru’s head now to one side, and his tongue tracing his lips. Hajime pulls his face back to face him with fingers on his chin, and Tooru is dazed. Hajime backhands him again, hard, before filling him with his fingers roughly.

Tooru’s eyes find Hajime’s, and they don’t leave, boring holes into his head. Tooru sounds like he’s hyperventilating, each breath out a choked breathy sob, every breath in jagged. Hajime smooths a hand down his side, leaning to press kisses deep into his chest. He’s focused on the sounds Tooru makes, teasing him with fingers and kisses until he hears palpable frustration. He knows Tooru’s limits, and he can tell when it’s too much, when he needs it too bad. When the fun’s over. 

Tooru makes a throaty sound of frustration, hissing out a, “I need your fucking cock inside of me now, you fucking asshole,” and Hajime grins into his skin. Tooru writhes underneath him, his sounds increasing in pitch, nearly painful on the ears, and oh so pretty. He’s about to move when Tooru sobs out a frustrated, “I need it, Hajime,” and Hajime can tell he’s running out of patience he doesn’t even have. He presses more kisses into Tooru’s skin while he pops the lid of the lube. Just the sound of it makes Tooru’s pleas more frantic.

“You _need_ it,” he coos, and Tooru nods tearfully, squirming in place, his face shifting between a pout and a glare, on and off. “I love you,” Hajime says, and it’s not part of his carefully calculated movements, not put there for a reason or with an intent. It’s pulled from his chest when he sees Tooru’s face, hears his distressed little whimpers. Ripped from his chest when the warm ache registers. Tooru makes a sound like he’s been hit, and Hajime sighs, so fondly.

“I love you too,” Tooru’s teary voice replies, and it’s not edging on desperate, it’s fallen in. 

Hajime coats his cock, and Tooru’s hand shoots out of seemingly nowhere to touch, pushed awkwardly underneath his own thigh as he practically bends in half. Hajime chokes out a laugh. “Want it that bad huh?” His lover’s fingers tease him rock solid in moments, and Tooru’s licking his lips, so Hajime hardly needs an answer to the question he can tell his lover didn’t even register. 

He pulls Tooru by the legs, clicking his tongue at him when he goes to bend them behind his head. “I need these,” he replies simply to Tooru’s confused noise, “And you’ll hurt your knee.” Tooru rolls his eyes, and Hajime laughs gently, running a thumb over his cheek, and then settling his knees, crooked, on top of Hajime’s shoulders. It was always nicer that he was taller than Hajime, his legs especially. Made it easier. 

“Hurry up,” Tooru grumbles, and he’s got a full pout on. Hajime leans to kiss him, and then yanks Tooru’s hips flush with his. Tooru breaks the kiss to throw his head back and shout, pressing back and wiggling his hips, “Cmon, cmon, moooove, fuck,” he somehow manages to swing himself back and forth, barely an inch, but he sounds so pleased Hajime lets him go on for a moment or so before pulling his hips flush. 

“Pretty desperate baby,” he coos, and the anguished noise Tooru makes punches him in the stomach with that same mixed fondness and need, and he starts a hard, but slow, pace. Massaging his insides, brushing each nerve, and every sobbed, choked moan makes Hajime hungrier. Tooru felt amazing, but nothing did it for Hajime more than his sounds. His ears are more focused than his cock, his fingers tracing every dip and curve of Tooru’s body, pinching skin, raking his nails down his stomach. 

Hajime pulls out, and the sound Tooru makes would make an eagle turn tail. “Shhhh, baby.” He using his hands to guide Tooru over, face down, ass up, taking a moment to make sure there’s enough support for his knee. He gives his ass a good, hard smack, and then sinks in again, reaching forward to grab Tooru’s hair and yank his head backwards. 

“God, yes,” Tooru whines, rolling back with fevor, “So fucking deep,” he sighs, fingers clutching to the sheets like talons. Every roll of Hajime’s hips is met with a harder, needy push back from Tooru, desperately trying to speed up the pace. “Fuck, fuck me, please,” Tooru gasps out, drawing a chuckle out of Hajime. 

“I thought I was?” He leans forward to press his nose into the back of Tooru’s neck Tooru makes a displeased noise, pulling his torso up and twisting his back to glare.

“No. _Fuck me_ , Hajime.” 

Something dark flashes through Hajime’s eyes, just for a second, and Tooru’s eyes light up like Christmas lights. Hajime pulls out, flips Tooru again, and fits his hand around Tooru’s neck. He leans forward and spits into Tooru’s mouth, which opens to catch it, moaning. Tooru’s legs quiver, his lips quiver, he breathes out a desperate cry of anticipation as Hajime’s hand begins to tighten, fingers curling harder on the back of his neck than the front, thumb carefully positioned. Hajime presses into him, kissing him gently, and his hand tightens gently around Tooru’s neck, the grip rough but his thumb only gently cutting his air off, tightening carefully, focused in. Tooru’s hand comes up to grasp his arm, his eyelashes fluttering. 

Then Hajime fucks him like he hates him. 

His pace is brutal. He loosens his hold on Tooru’s neck when Tooru squeezes his wrist, and it takes Tooru a few moments of gasping for air to start screaming, hands clawing at every inch of Hajime they can reach. 

He alternates between the brutal, hard strokes and gentle, soft ones, alternates between kissing across Tooru’s jaw and tightening his hand. 

He keeps him on the edge until there are tears dripping down his face. He coos softly at him, now, only fucking him slowly, and Tooru’s begging is reduced only to sounds, no longer able to properly form the words. 

“I’m going to let you cum,” he says, and Tooru’s head shoots up to look at him, desperately mouthing nonsense at him, “You can cum whenever you want.” 

When Tooru finally gets his tongue to work for him again, he asks, “I can cum? I can cum?” He’s beautiful, and his hair is a mess, and there’s drool dripping down his chin. Hajime tries not to laugh, and leans down to kiss him. He nods, and Tooru shakes his head, “Say it. Hajime, say it.” 

“You can cum, Tooru-,” he’s cut off by an indignant sound, and the shaking of his head. Tooru puts his hand over the one Hajime has on his neck, pressing down.

“Mean. Say it _mean_.” Hajime laughs now, and leans in to kiss him. 

Then he tightens his hand, and picks up his brutal pace again. His voice is full of venom, malice, “Cum, Tooru.” 

He watches Tooru’s eyes roll back, feels him press up into him as his back arches, and Hajime releases his throat to hear him scream bloody murder. Tooru’s nails draw blood as they press into Hajime’s skin, his eyelashes fluttering as he falls from his high. He clutches to Hajime, pressing his face into his neck. Hajime lowers himself next to Tooru, letting him shiver and moan, pressing up into him again. Hajime kisses him gently all across his face, whispering sweet things to him as he came down. 

Hajime is fully prepared for when Tooru presses his face into his neck and starts sobbing. Sometimes the drop from the top was a very long fall. He presses kisses into any skin he can reach, gently dragging his fingers along the skin under his hands. “You did so good, baby,” he whispers, “I love you so much. You’re so precious to me. You know that, don’t you?”

Tooru nods against his shoulder, shivers wracking his body. When he finally can speak again, it’s between sobs, “You’re mine.” 

Hajime nods, kissing up his neck, “I’m yours.”

Tooru pulls back and looks into his eyes, and Hajime doesn’t need to be told Tooru is his with words. He can see it there. He wipes a tear away with his eye. 

When Tooru calms down enough, Hajime pulls away from him to grab a wet cloth. Warm, wet rag in hand, he pepper kisses all along his body as he cleans him up. He startles when Tooru gasps and pushes himself up, “Y’di’nt cum, Haj.” Hajime looks up from where he’s dragging a wet cloth across Tooru’s thigh. 

Hajime blinks, looking down at his cock. It’s soft, now, and he feels satisfied. Beyond satisfied, what with how pleased Tooru looks, still, the way he can feel his satiation, even if it won’t last long. Tooru looks mildly guilty, and Hajime soothes it with a kiss. “I’m happy. Beyond happy. You were so pretty.” It distracts Tooru for a minute as he practically puffs up like a bird. He can see Tooru taunting ‘frosted tips guy’ and the other guy both in his head, feeling like he’d won. It makes him kiss Tooru again, deeply. 

“I love you,” he whispers against Tooru’s lips. 

“Fuck, I love you too,” is whispered back. 

Hajime finishes the towel bath and cleans himself off too. Tooru is sitting on the bed staring at Hajime’s cock, and when Hajime gets dressed, his clothed crotch. He can tell it’s bugging him, almost like guilt, or like he’s going to lose a game. 

“You didn’t cum.” Tooru says. His eyes flit up to Hajime’s, as Hajime pulls a shirt over his head, Tooru gasps, “Hajime, wait, take that off.” It’s ordered in a ‘you will listen to me’ sort of way, and so Hajime only hesitates a second before pulling it back off. Tooru is on him with an alcohol swab in a second tops, and Hajime barely has time to wonder how he did that before he’s nodding in satisfaction. “You might want to keep the shirt off, it’ll aggravate the…,” Tooru is looking at his crotch again, with a little bit of a wild grin in his eyes.

Hajime looks down to see his cock peeking out from his boxers. 

“Hajime. Hajime, you love me.” Tooru is saying, and he sounds...excited. He’s stalking toward Hajime like a predator, and Hajime’s cock hardens further still. “Oh…,” and Hajime finds himself naked once again, Tooru’s eyes on his cock and tongue swiping his lips. “Hajime, fuck my throat.” Tooru’s eyes look up at him, and breathes out a little desperate sigh, “Cum down my throat. Ha-,” Hajime puts his hand on Tooru’s cheek, swiping a thumb over the soft skin. He uses it to push Tooru’s head up so he can see his neck, gently touching the skin with his hand to check for bruising. 

When he’s satisfied Tooru’s neck is in good health, he grabs Tooru by the jaw and pulls him forward. He fucks into Tooru’s throat gently, and Tooru whimpers at him, tongue swirling already around his cock as Hajime pulls back and fucks back in. He presses Tooru’s head back against the bed, and fucks his throat hard. Tooru doesn’t stop moaning for a second of it, but he’s focused, dedicated, on making Hajime cum. He swallows, swirls his tongue and presses into each stroke feverishly, until Hajime chokes on his first moan, and Tooru’s eyes light up. 

Tooru’s attempts become more feverish than Hajime’s, and it isn’t his tongue that pushes Hajime over the edge, but how fucking pleased he looks with himself, like he’s going to accomplish the greatest fucking thing he’s ever done in his life right here and right now. Hajime has only a second to wonder if that's how he looks when he fucks Tooru, too, before he yells like he’s been burned and empties himself into Tooru’s throat. He moans weakly as he feels Tooru swallow around him. 

Tooru pulls off with a pop, licking his lips, and sighs happily as he pulls himself and Hajime up into bed, kissing Hajime deeply to let him taste himself on his tongue. 

Hajime pulls him into his chest. They watch the sun’s light peek through their window, clinging tightly to each other. Their breathing eventually evens out, and Tooru falls asleep first, pressed tight into Hajime’s body. Hajime traces his skin with his hands, with his lips, with his mind. He coos at Tooru, even knowing he’s fully asleep, tells him how wonderful he is, how much he loves him. How much better his life is with Tooru in it, how smart he knows Tooru is. 

That he’s his. That he’s not someone who Hajime would want to replace, forget being able to, that he’s so much to Hajime and more. 

That he’s the best choice Hajime has ever made in his life. 

When Hajime’s eyes finally close, it’s with Tooru’s smiling lips and wet eyes pressed into his skin, and Tooru’s fingers tightening gently, lovingly around his wrist.


End file.
